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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25456606">it’s been more than words can tell</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aaalice/pseuds/aaalice'>aaalice</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>what more can i say? [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Anyways, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Comfort, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Keith/Lance (Voltron), Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Monologue, Lance Has Nightmares (Voltron), M/M, Nightmares, Panic, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Sensory Overload, abuse of commas, i was up so late for this please read, i wouldn’t say panic attack but like, klance, sir this is my emotional support trope</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:47:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,078</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25456606</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aaalice/pseuds/aaalice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>fluffy post-canon klance!</p><p>lance has a nightmare and keith comforts him :)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Keith/Lance (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>what more can i say? [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821664</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>it’s been more than words can tell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <strong>if you want context for their relationship/living arrangements, please check out the first work in this series you don’t need it tho</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>idea spawned from <a href="https://youtu.be/Wp0w3ACx_Ps">this song</a> from the musical falsettos, give it a listen!</p><p>hello! i am a big sucker for nightmare fics, and while there are a lot in this fandom, i experience nightmares very differently from a lot of those fics! so heres lance experiencing my kinda nightmare aftershocks + sensory overloads! yay!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>it’s been hot<br/>
also it’s been swell<br/>
more than not,<br/>
it’s been more than words can tell<br/>
- - - - -</em>
  </p>
</div>There are Galra ships in the sky.<p>It's been...<em>years</em>, but there are Galra ships in the sky.</p><p>Lance can't see the sun, there are so many. Drones and battle cruisers and the like, moving like a hive mind, masses of metal blocking all but a few patches of blue sky. The ships hover, moving slowly but in uniform like gigantic purple storm clouds with much deadlier attacks than lightning.</p><p>He stands outside the Galaxy Garrison. </p><p>The Garrison is just where it should be, white and pristine, angular and primed for action, but the lights are off. There are no people there, no one manning defenses or calling the shots. The building trained for war is somehow defenseless when it’s needed most. Not just empty, but <em>abandoned</em>.</p><p>Lance is wearing his Garrison uniform, but it's not the blue one he'd worn in the last of the battles. Well, what he thought was the last of the battles. It’s the stark orange color from his days as a junior cadet, though he’s no longer cadet-aged. It's uncomfortable, but by far not the biggest of his worries. He is without his lion, his bayard, his teammates. There is nothing he can do.</p><p>He turns around.</p><p>There's a canyon behind him, long and deep and stretching past the horizon on both sides. He can’t see to the end or to the bottom, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s below. It’s as far from him as the Garrison is, which should be far enough, but it almost seems to be moving closer, even as his feet are planted firmly on the ground. He turns back to the Garrison.</p><p>There's a figure in front of him. </p><p>Though it’s humanoid, there are no discernible features to its body, just some sort of dark, heavily draped clothing. He can't tell if it's taller or shorter than him, larger or smaller, wider or thinner. </p><p>The face shifts, he doesn't know what its expression is; the features blend and blur and mesh and it's Keith and it's Haggar and it’s Shiro and it's Hunk and it’s Ryner and it’s Sendak and it's Pidge and it’s Kolivan and it's Allura and it's Lotor and it's Iverson and it's Alfor and it's changing so fast that he can only catch glimpses of familiar features and it's <em>keith and hunk and allura and florona and keith and acxa and veronica and keith and nyma and pidge and keith and shay and hunk and blaytz and—</em></p><p>And he's falling.</p><p>He's falling fast, he can hear the wind in his ears and he can feel the horrible, nauseous sensation of his weight being too much for the air to hold.</p><p>He knows that the figure pushed him off, he feels a lingering burn where its splayed hand was on his chest but he doesn't remember the physical push happening. It doesn’t matter anyways, it’s too late to stop it now. He doesn't know how far it is to the bottom of the canyon, but he knows he's no short distance away. </p><p>His senses overwhelm him, he’s taking in so much but he can’t do a thing about it. He is without his protective armor or his jet pack and he can’t speak or scream for help. He can’t move his limbs but he can feel their weight and their tug as he’s pulled down and down and down.</p><p>He can see layers of rocks jutting out higher and higher above him, just a fraction of the ship-covered sky still in sight until it <em>isn’t anymore</em> and it’s just dim rock shapes above him and around him.</p><p>He can’t turn around to see what’s below him but he somehow has the sickening knowledge that he is very close to the end of his plummet and there is no saving him now. He is helpless and alone and he will die by a simple shove to his chest while the Galra ravage the Earth and the people flee until they can’t any longer. </p><p>He wants to close his eyes but he can't; hundreds of prayers echo in his ears, he wants to say them and hold onto the hope that he can still be saved but he can't move, he can only fall and he can only <em>feel—</em></p><p>And he's awake.</p><p>It was a nightmare, Lance knew that now, but he was still reeling from the aftershocks of being <em>slammed</em> back into his body.</p><p>He was hugging something. He had no idea what it was, but it was grounding him, the solid feeling and the burn in his arms from holding it so tight was grounding him. So he held on.</p><p>His knees were drawn up as far as he could get them, which wasn't far because whatever he was hugging was right up against his front. He could see just over the shoulder — shoulder, he thought, it must have been a body (Keith flashed for a moment in his mind) — and, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the space around him, he could recognize it as their room.</p><p>And now he was more aware of his surroundings, aware of himself. He realized he was hyperventilating, could feel the resistance on his ribcage every time he inhaled. The thing he was holding — Keith, maybe — was trying to shift in his embrace, but he didn't let it. He needed to keep himself on Earth, he just knew if he let go that he'd feel the aching effect of that slam again, the horrible shock that was still pulling at his nerves, vying mercilessly for his full attention.</p><p>He buried his face in whoever's neck it was, Keith, he decided. The thought of Keith wasn't nearly as comforting as it should have been, as comforting as he <em>needed</em> it to be. The ships and the figure were starting to fade from his memory, but snapshots continued to replay when he focused too much on the <strike>dream</strike> nightmare.</p><p>Keith began to shift again and Lance knew, could feel the hum of his own vocal chords, that he was muttering some sort of negation to Keith's actions; he needed Keith to <em>stay still</em>, damn it. </p><p>His pleas apparently didn’t work; Keith's core was stronger than Lance's quickly tiring arms. Keith was able to shift from lying on his side to his back, sitting up while still in Lance's hold. </p><p>There was a hand on Lance's back, long strokes of light pressure up and down his spine, encouraging him to relax his iron grip. Then another light touch, a hand tugging lightly under his knees, pulling so Lance would sit up with his legs across Keith's lap. They slowly adjusted so Keith could surround and protect him more while Lance could still cling.</p><p>This, this was better. Damn Keith for knowing him so well. </p><p>Lance could feel himself calming down bit by bit, heart beat gradually regulating. It took more control and work on his part to slow his breathing into long, drawn out inhales and exhales, but now he breathed in time with the hand on his back. </p><p>His body was decidedly more calm, but his mind was still racing. The sensation of falling was still too familiar to be dismissed, he was still mourning the loss of a more comfortable hold on Keith, he fleetingly realized he was uncomfortable in his shirt even though that shouldn’t matter at all right now, he longed for one of his oversized knit sweaters that wouldn’t feel nearly as confining, he could still faintly feel the tremors like a ghost in his chest, he was...he was...</p><p>
  <em>Overwhelmed.</em>
</p><p>He got a bit of satisfaction from the small victory of putting a name to the feeling, but it didn't last long. What came next when Lance was overwhelmed was crying, and he most certainly didn't want that. That always became a vicious cycle of trying not to think about it and failing, but the tears brimming behind his eyes were staved off by a voice above him and a low hum from where Lance was pressed up against Keith's chest.</p><p>Words.</p><p>He couldn't help but miss the first part of the sentence, but he came back in time to catch</p><p>"—Lance?"</p><p>Okay, being called by name helped him center himself. A small win, but he also needed to answer the question. He knew there was some question he could ask so Keith would say it again, but he couldn't phrase it right in his mind. </p><p>"You're safe," Keith began again, and immediately Lance’s shoulders relaxed at the words. It was automatic, that phrase had sent something down his spine to begin extinguishing the lingering nerves. "We're at home, we're in our room, we're completely safe."</p><p>Trust surged through Lance’s chest and chased away the fear that was still trying to envelop him. Keith's voice was warm and his embrace was warm and, when Lance looked up at him, his eyes were warm, too. He couldn’t help but find the bit of roughness in Keith’s voice from just being woken up a bit endearing.</p><p>"Okay," Lance whispered. Keith smiled, just an upturn of the corner of his mouth, but it was endearing. Speaking a little eased the tightness that still faintly clutched his lungs.</p><p>"Do you wanna tell me what happened?" Keith asked gently.</p><p>Lance couldn't quite remember the dream as vividly, which was a good sign. He wasn't one for remembering his dreams, even when they were good, which was helpful when the inevitable nightmares came around. </p><p>He knew he'd already forgotten most of the faces the figure had displayed. A few more of the particularly terrifying details were already slipping away. He didn’t know what colors the canyon was or how fast they had been rushing past them. The burn of the handprint on his chest was dissipating.</p><p>"I don't really remember much of it anymore. Galra ships were here again." Instinctually he turned into Keith further. "There were a lot more than there were last time. Kind of the whole sky. And I was falling at the end."</p><p>He could tell he was doing a terrible job at hiding his tensing as he recalled the freefall. The pressure on his back marginally increased, and Keith's other hand moved to rest at Lance's waist, gentle and undemanding. </p><p>Lance would have to make this up to him. Even woken up at God knows what time in the middle of the night, Keith knew what to do. Fresh, untamed guilt blossomed in his chest. </p><p>"I'm sorry," Lance groaned, his only solace found in hugging Keith tighter.</p><p>"It’s not your fault, baby," Keith murmured, and Lance had to fight down the smile that the pet name sparked.</p><p>“You still shouldn’t have to do this,” he reasoned. </p><p>Keith frowned. “Don’t think like that. I always want you to feel safe, okay?”</p><p>Lance sighed. Keith was so stupidly wonderful. His embrace was too perfect, arms strong enough to hold Lance tight and gentle enough to reassure him. It was addictive, and he let Lance take as much as he wanted. </p><p>“Do you want me to go get anything?”</p><p>Lance’s mind pulled the thought of a sweater back up, oversized things tended to be softer on his senses, but that would require Keith to leave him, and he’d rather deal with a little discomfort than have Keith stop encompassing him protectively. </p><p>“Later.” He meant to establish that he wanted them to stay as they were, but he no longer liked the feeling of words on his tongue. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, tightening his hold a little and figuring that Keith would get the message, which he did. </p><p>The hand at Lance’s back moved up until Keith could begin to comb through his hair soothingly. Even if the nightmare’s aftershocks were severe, there wasn’t a thing he could find wrong with Keith’s methods of calming him down. The guilty thought that he was taking advantage of Keith’s care was creeping up the back of his mind, but was assuaged with the gentle carding of Keith’s hand.</p><p>Lance blinked, knowing he was all too lucky. There weren’t enough adjectives in the world for Keith, there would never be an adequate comparison. The swell of appreciation Keith sparked was all-encompassing. </p><p>All it took was a murmured ‘goodnight’ before Lance was asleep again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ok so i realized like halfway through my final edit round that i’m projecting a lot of my own sensory shit onto lance so if lance seems to be a bit not-lance uh that’s my bad</p><p>this work was brought to you by your local hurt/comfort slut </p><p>anyways<br/>if you didn’t already know, this is part of a series of domestic post-canon klance! if you’re reading this once everything has been released and the series is done, please check them all out if you liked this one!</p><p>thank you so much for reading! kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! </p><p>:)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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